


An Unexpected Journey

by Lush_Specimen



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hobbies, Minimegs, Post-War, Towards Peace Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lush_Specimen/pseuds/Lush_Specimen
Summary: Shortly after joining the Lost Light, Megatron finds a datapad titled "Towards Peace" on the bridge. Instead of his polemic, it contains the raw personal writings of the intriguing "Ultar Mgsuna" (who could it be?!). As he reads through the unpolished prose, he encounters several other crew members pursuing new creative endeavors now that the endless war has finally ended, prompting him to muse on what "Towards Peace" truly means.The piece that I wrote for the Towards Peace zine!!





	An Unexpected Journey

**Author's Note:**

> This fic originally appears in the Towards Peace zine. This free zine represents a true labor of love! Everyone worked really hard on their part, whether art, fic, or layout. We are so excited to share our work! 
> 
> All the work is amazing!! Check it out: [Towards Peace](https://www.dropbox.com/s/kg9ydt7s7ecn2k2/Towards_Peace_Zine.pdf?dl=0)

The bridge doors swished open to reveal an uncharacteristically calm command center. Megatron stepped on to the bridge and crossed his arms with a satisfied smile. He loved the night shift. Minimal staff on duty made for a welcome respite from the daily chaos of life aboard the Lost Light. Staring out the large windows across the countless stars shimmering in the vastness of space and the steady hum of the quantum engines beneath his feet reminded him of the person he used to be long ago, when he dreamed only of possibilities instead of atonement. 

He made his way towards the captain’s chair, prepared to enjoy several hours of blissful silence. Rounding the corner in front of the command console, he stopped short and sighed. Sprawled sideways across the chair, slept Rodimus, engine purring in contentment. Rodimus’ shift ended hours ago, he should have been long gone. Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose and resisted the urge to overturn the chair to drop the speedster’s red and gold chassis right on to the floor. At least Rodimus was quiet and Megatron knew exactly where he was. Electing to preserve his tranquility for just a little while longer, Megatron opted to let sleeping bots lie and shuffled over to the second-in-command station. On route to Ultra Magnus’ chair, he nearly stepped on an errant datapad lying on the floor. 

Shaking his head, Megatron scooped up the datapad and finally sat down. He would have to have another conversation with Rodimus about the proper behavior befitting a captain. After millennia of commanding an army so fearsome he ground entire galaxies into dust, he was reduced to shepherding a band of wayward sparklings. Megatron flipped open the datapad and huffed. The title page read “Towards Peace.” He rolled his optics. Which one of these ridiculous autobots toted around a copy of his polemic? 

Curious as to which version he now held, Megatron started to read a few lines. He halted abruptly and scanned the bridge to see if he unwittingly walked into some kind of prank. The title was the same, but the words in this datapad were definitely not his. Finding the command center serene, his attention returned to the datapad. Intrigued, Megatron continued to read. 

_Ultar Mgsuna stood staring out across the swirling galaxies and sighed from the depth of his spark. Sometimes guilt and uncertainty combined into a burden too great even for his large capable shoulders. After millennia of war, peace should have been welcomed with open arms. Peace? What is peace? The dictionary states that it is the cessation of war and the freedom from disturbance. The war ended but instead of tranquility it only left doubts and ambiguity in its wake._

_He searched the vast cosmos with his tired optics, but found no answers. The universe continued to spin on, unconcerned with his inner turmoil. It felt wrong to miss the war, but he missed the certainty, the clarity that came in the middle of a fire fight. He fought for peace through endless ages, but now that it had finally been achieved, he never felt more lost._

“Whatcha readin’?” 

Megatron snapped the datapad shut with a start and looked up into crystal blue optics of his co-captain. 

“Nice of you to get out of my chair,” Megatron grumbled as he got up to take over the captain’s chair. 

“Well,” Rodimus huffed, “I was waiting for you to come in to start your shift, but you took so long that I must have died of old age. Lucky for you, my natural affinity for the matrix resurrected me.” 

“Lucky me,” Megatron muttered as he settled into the captain’s chair. “Forgive me for not leaping for joy, fool’s energon , you know.” 

“Whatever. You still didn’t answer my question.” 

“I don’t have to answer your question because it’s not your business. Besides, there are no pictures in it, you wouldn’t be interested.” 

“Come on,” Rodimus prodded a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “You gotta tell me now!” 

“Fine!” Megatron relented, choosing the path of least resistance before Rodimus makes a game or a running gag out of his refusal. “Towards Peace.” 

“Didn’t YOU write that?” Rodimus tilted his head to one side. 

“Technically, yes,” Megatron struggled to craft an answer that danced around the truth, “but now it seems… different.” 

“Yeah, I get it.” 

“Get what?” 

“You’re having one of those crisises…? crisi…? You know, a difficult emotional time.” 

“I am not-” 

“S’Okay, Megs,” Rodimus cut him off. “We all have them. Sometimes I wonder if Past Rodimus would even like eternal screw-up Present Rodimus, but Present Rodimus wouldn’t exist without Past Rodimus, who also made some super terrible decisions. All I can hope is that Future Rodimus will finally be the one to get his act together.” 

Megatron stared at his co-captain. Although rather poorly articulated, Rodimus just stated something profoundly self-aware. He had drastically underestimated the flashy speedster. Perhaps he knew something about the alternate “Towards Peace.” 

“Rodimus-” 

“I mean sure, during the war you personally killed a lot of people, like a whole lot, but so did I. Hell, everyone on this ship has. Except for Tailgate, pretty sure the only thing he ever killed was time. Although, if we’re being honest, six million years is a proper massacre.” 

“I don’t see how-” 

“The point is,” Rodimus continued to forge ahead, undeterred by Megatron’s attempt to interrupt him, nonchalantly sauntering towards the door. “You just gotta keep moving forward however you can. Random example, some bots might take off in a ship that their best friend bought for them using an impossible quest as an excuse to explore the universe with their friends because they don’t know how to deal with the new peace-time dynamic at home. Other bots might write about their issues using thinly veiled avatars.” 

Megatron’s jaw dropped, “That’s what I-” 

“I know you probably have a lot going on, you know, in your brain-space. You should definitely make an appointment to talk to Rung, he is way better at this than I am.” With a casual wave and a broad grin, Rodimus left the bridge in a brilliant flash of gold leaving a stunned Megatron in his wake. 

“You’re better at it than you think,” Megatron muttered as the bridge doors swished shut, still reeling from his encounter with hurricane Rodimus. He smiled and glanced at the datapad one more time before slipping it away. He had his captain’s duties to attend to now. The fact that Rodimus mentioned writing as a coping mechanism only increased his curiosity about the alternate “Towards Peace.” 

The rest of his shift passed uneventfully. Megatron left the bridge a little early to avoid another exhausting conversation with Rodimus and retreated to his hab suite to continue reading. Flopping down on his recharge slab, Megatron opened up the datapad again. He knew that he shouldn’t read some other bot’s personal writings but he was already hopelessly enthralled. The prose was so raw and earnest, it made him feel like writing again. 

_He had agreed to come on this quest because it at least gave him a sense of direction, of purpose. A quest had meaning. To find something lost. But, what if what was lost can never be found? What if it never even existed in the first place? Ultar supposed the act of searching had value in and of itself. Besides, traveling the universe is an inherently dangerous endeavor and straddling the delicate boundary between security and mortal peril at least presented a familiar challenge._

_Walking the long halls on a routine ship inspection, Ultar encountered numerous infractions, not that his intrepid captain would ever take notice of his thorough reports. Every single member of the crew had the potential to create havoc. Somehow he had to protect them all in spite of themselves, or perhaps even from themselves, especially the ones who have made hand grenade tag into an actual sport._

Megatron stopped reading when he felt the intense glare of crimson optics through the datapad. 

“Ravage, I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“I should hope not! That would mean I was losing my touch,” Ravage preened. “What has captured your attention so thoroughly that you missed poetry night at Visages?” 

Megatron winced, he forgot all about that. He had been rather preoccupied, “Just reading “Towards Peace”.” He racked his brain to formulate the perfect answer. Ravage could smell a lie from across time and space but if he technically told the truth he might be able to hide the fact that he was reading someone else’s unfinished work. 

“Is that so,” Ravage narrowed his optics and flattened his ears. “You once wrote a document by that title. What makes this copy so interesting?” 

“It’s not the way that I remember it,” Megatron replied, which is true. He wrote a manifesto, striving to bring change to a society while this version provides a glimpse into the personal post war struggles of a single spark. Somehow Megatron found this new version profoundly more affecting. 

“Hmm…” Ravage rose slowly, padding towards Megatron who nervously pulled the datapad close. When a knock at the door broke his concentration, Megatron heaved a sigh of relief and quickly tucked “Towards Peace” away. 

“Ravage? Are you home?” called a chipper voice. 

“Is that one of the Camiens?” Megatron asked. 

“Nautica and I have business,” Ravage flicked his tail and opened the door. 

“Ravage! I’ve got some great material for a few new articles but I want to see what kind of pictures you have before we decide what to publish.” Nautica gushed. 

“I’ve got some great shots! I think this will be our best issue yet!” 

A smile slowly spread across Megatron’s face as all the pieces fell into place, “You two publish the “Lost Light Insider”?” 

“Ahoy, captain!” Nautica offered a flamboyant salute. “Yes, we do, but it’s sort of a secret. Please don’t tell anyone!” She added with a sheepish grin. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Ravage stared pointedly at the closed datapad tucked under the side of the recharge slab. “We all have our secrets.” 

Megatron placed a protective hand over the datapad then watched in shock as Nautica lowered her arm and the usually standoffish Ravage climbed up to perch lightly on her shoulder turbines. 

“What?” Ravage twitched the tip of his tail, sensing Megatron’s surprise. “I have hobbies too. I fought hard for equality and peace along with everyone else. If I want to use the fruit of my labors to publish ridiculous tabloid articles with my new friend, then I believe I earned the right to exercise my creativity.” 

“Well said!” Nautica giggled. “You are going to love some of the headlines that I’ve come up with! So many puns!” 

“Just wait until you see some of my pictures, we can use them all out of context! It will be hilarious!” Ravage laughed. Megatron watched them leave, chatting and laughing together, more than a little concerned about the next issue.

He shook his head, today just kept getting stranger. First the intriguing alternate version of “Towards Peace,” then Rodimus’ ridiculous yet profound monologue, now revelation that Ravage runs a gossip magazine with a member of a lost Cybertronian colony. Everyone had their own way of dealing with the end of the war, exploring sides to themselves that get eclipsed on the battlefield, something the author of “Towards Peace” had so eloquently put into words. 

Megatron picked up the datapad, running his fingers lightly over the screen. He used to think the only way to achieve peace was by exercising ultimate control over every variable. “Peace through tyranny,” as his old motto said. The more he learned about his new crew, the more he realized how spectacularly wrong he was. It made him feel old, and tired, and lonely. He picked up the datapad and headed for Swerve’s. Although he wasn’t really looking for company, he had the sudden desire to not be alone. 

Mercifully, the midday break crowd had already filtered back to their stations. Megatron would have a few hours before most of the crew returned for some rowdy evening shenanigans. According to the banner above the door, tonight’s diversion involved a dance competition featuring music from “Earth’s Hottest Boy Bands,” whatever that meant. 

Taking his customary seat at the far end of the bar, Megatron beckoned to Swerve, “The usual, please.” 

“Here ya go!” Swerve slid a tall glass of dull silver pink medical grade energon across the bar decorated with a festive little umbrella. 

“What is this?” Megatron squinted, poking at the paper accessory. 

“Looks like a futile attempt to brighten your day,” Swerve shrugged. 

“Oh?” Megatron suddenly found the ridiculous decoration incredibly endearing. “I wouldn’t say it’s completely ineffective.” 

“Great! Having a miserable tyrant at the bar is really bad for business.” 

“I wouldn’t know.” 

“Well I would! Having a bar has always been my dream, you know. Even during the toughest parts of the war, I’d think, if I can get through this, me and Blurr, we’re gonna open that bar. Just a little hole in the wall kinda place, where people can come when they don’t wanna be alone. Like on all the earth’s greatest sitcoms, where everybody knows your name and your troubles are all the same. True, Blurr’s not here, but I am and I have a bar so that’s two out of three. Two thirds of a dream come true isn’t bad. Maybe not ideal, but you gotta take what you can get!” 

Megatron stared at the diminutive bartender, amazed that he could hold on to the same simple dream long enough to actually make it come true after countless years of hardship. That small frame and cheerful attitude must conceal a ferocious tenacity. “I think you created quite a successful establishment here. You should be proud.” 

“Glad you think so! Remember that when it comes time to leave a tip!” Swerve smiled and scurried off to refill some empty glasses for Trailcutter and Hoist. Although he didn’t drink anymore, Trailcutter still came to Swerve’s with Hoist everyday simply because he enjoyed the camaraderie. 

Taking a sip of his drink, careful not to put his optic out with the tiny umbrella, Megatron pulled out the datapad and continued reading where he left off, occasionally stopping to jot down a few verses in his own datapad whenever inspiration struck. 

_To further confound Ultar’s increasingly desperate attempts to maintain some semblance of order on board his massive vessel, they were recently assigned a new officer. To say this bot had a checkered past would be to imply that there had been light spots when everything was so overwhelmingly dark. He was in equal parts feared, resented, and respected. And now, he was Ultar’s responsibility._

A dark shadow fell across Megatron, his datapad, and most of the bar. 

“Hello, Minimus,” Megatron greeted the large blue and white bot currently looming over him without looking up from his reading. No one else could cast a shadow so large. 

“Megatron,” Ultra Magnus nodded. “Is this seat taken?” 

Megatron looked down the bar at the row of empty seats. The few patrons currently drinking were all seated in booths as far from him as possible. He chuckled to himself, Minimus was always so formal. “No, I don’t believe it is. Care to join me?” 

“Thank you, sir.” Magnus replied, negotiating his large frame on to the bar stool. “What are you reading?” 

“Towards Peace,” Megatron offered the routine reply, taking another sip of his drink. Several other bots had asked him over the course of the last few hours. Usually they found it perplexing or humorous, and he made a private game out of guessing their reactions. Ultra Magnus’ response came as a complete surprise. He instantly froze like every single one of his millions of circuits locked up. 

The look of pure unconcealed terror on Ultra Magnus’ face shocked Megatron. He had seen this look before, on the battlefield, that terrible realization that comes when a bot feels the distinctive click of a land mine activating under his foot. With the slightest movement resulting in dismemberment or death, they are trapped, clinging to some vain hope that somehow what they already know to be true will turn out to be a mistake.

“Ahhh…” Megatron’s optics widened and he carefully closed his now beloved datapad, “I think... this must be your copy.” Ultar Mgsuna... It was so painfully obvious, Megatron felt a little ashamed that he didn’t figure it out sooner. 

Magnus recovered from his paralysis enough to slump down on his seat in one abrupt motion. He buried his face in his large hands, and mumbled, “No one was ever supposed to read that.” 

Megatron laid his scarred hand gently on Magnus’ forearm. He remembered when Terminus first discovered his rough drafts, hidden in their cramped miners’ quarters. Nothing could compare to the agonizing turmoil of having your secret creative endeavors discovered prematurely. The intense feelings of embarrassment compounded by fear of the ridicule of his spark’s struggles laid bare. Completely understanding his pain, Megatron realized he never felt a closer kinship to anyone than he felt with Minimus in this exact moment. 

“Is everything okay here?” Trailcutter and Hoist stood protectively behind Ultra Magnus. 

Megatron smiled, he didn’t even notice them get up. Minimus might feel lost and alone, but he had the absolute devotion of his crew. “Everything is fine,” he reassured them. “We are just discussing the complexities of “Towards Peace.” It can be quite overwhelming.” 

“Really?” Trailcutter brightened. “You know, I always meant to read that.” As Trailcutter reached across the bar for the datapad, Ultra Magnus choked on a sound somewhere between a sob and a whimper. 

Megatron slammed his hand down on the datapad and possessively drew it towards himself. “This is my copy,” he stated with an authority that would not accept any dissension. “If you would like to read it, I’m sure the ship’s library has several copies.” 

Hoist shrank back in terror but Trailcutter held up his hands with an easy grin, “No worries.” He pat Ultra Magnus on the back, “Are you sure you’re okay, sir?” 

Magnus sighed and offered the slightest nod, movements relaxing slightly. 

“If everything is okay, we’ll be on our way. See you around, sirs!” Trailcutter hooked his arm around Hoist and dragged him along. “Come on, Hoist! Let’s pay Swerve for the energon spritzers and visit the library, I’ve got some reading to catch up on.” 

After they had paid their tab and ventured off to the library, Magnus peered through his fingers at Megatron, “Thank you.” 

Megatron shook his head, “No, I need to thank you.” 

“I’m not sure that I follow,” Ultra Magnus finally sat up straight, slight color fading from his cheeks. 

“Well,” Megatron caressed the datapad one last time before sliding across the bar towards Magnus, “It’s been so very long since I wrote anything only for myself, but these words, your words, have truly inspired me.” 

“Funny,” Ultra Magnus smiled, “Your works are why I started writing in the first place.”

They sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes before Megatron produced his own datapad, “Minimus, I want you to have this, as a token of my appreciation. This contains the few bits of prose and rough verses of poetry that I’ve written since I started reading your version of “Towards Peace.” It’s only right that you get to read them.”

Ultra Magnus looked from the datapad to Megatron and back again, “No, I couldn’t possibly…”

Megatron placed the datapad into Ultra Magnus’ hands and then wrapped them in his own, “Please, I’ve read some of your writings. I would very much like it if you read some of mine.”

“Thank you,” Magnus nodded and pulled Megatron’s poetry close. Some internal conflict darkened his bright blue optics which, in typical fashion, was quickly resolved. “You know, I would like this to be better,” he said holding up his version of “Towards Peace.” “I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss my work with a more experienced author.”

“I would be honored,” Megatron answered slowly, still in shock as he accepted the offered datapad.

“However, there are two conditions.” Magnus counted them out on his massive fingers, “One: No one else learns about this… EVER! Two: If you find any more of my works, especially if there is mention of sprinkler systems in the title, you must NOT read it, under any circumstances. Agreed?”

“Absolutely!” Megatron laid his hand over his spark chamber, “I swear to you by all the flickering light left in my spark…”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Ultra Magnus cut him off with a wave. “There is enough drama on this ship already, too much if you ask me. A simple handshake will suffice.”

“As you wish,” Megatron shook Magnus’ hand. He found the handshake to be as firm as expected but also surprisingly gentle. “As loath as I am to leave, I need to get to the bridge for my shift as captain. Whenever I arrive even a second late, Rodimus pretends to be dead. Sometimes I wonder which I regret more, shooting him in the first place or not finishing the job,” he added with a smirk.

Ultra Magnus initial look of horror faded into a smile as the realization dawned on him, “Oh! Literary device! Sarcasm… or is it irony?” He furrowed his brow, deep in thought, silently pondering the possibilities. “No wait… Metaphor!” He nodded with a conspiratorial grin, extremely pleased with his deduction.

Megatron bit his lip to keep from laughing, Minimus was just so earnest it hurt. “You were right the first time, but we can discuss their differences next time we meet.”

“How about same time here tomorrow?” Magnus asked, already jotting down a few notes in another datapad, Megatron’s poetry carefully tucked away. 

Megatron nodded and rose to leave, tossing a few shanix on the bar to pay for his drink. 

“Sounds like you didn’t even appreciate the umbrella at all!” called Swerve from across the bar where he and Riptide were sorting out the playlist for tonight’s event. 

Rolling his optics, Megatron dropped a few more shanix on the bar from a greater height so they produced a distinctive clatter. 

“That’s more like it!” Swerved grinned, bringing a weak energon spritzer over to Ultra Magnus. 

“Thank you, come again!” Riptide chirped. 

Shaking his head, Megatron left for the bridge. Swerve and Riptide were in deep conversation regarding tonight's event about things called NSYNC, BSB, and NKOTB. Surprisingly, Minimus seemed to be an expert in this particular branch of earth culture and presented a clear concise argument for the obvious superiority of BSB. When Riptide brought up LFO, Minimus almost choked on his drink. Megatron didn’t understand the fascination so many Cybertronians had for earth culture but made a mental note to ask Minimus about it later. 

As he slowly meandered his way through the winding hallways, Megatron pulled out Minimus’ version of “Towards Peace” and smiled. It was so very different from his own work. Even though they shared the same title, somehow it fit them both. Perhaps that was the most significant detail, the most accurate thing about his original writings. After all the volumes of propaganda and philosophy, the two words he chose for the title of his autobiography carried the most weight. Peace can never truly be achieved, he was foolish to ever think of it as a destination. The best you could hope for is to continually move towards it. 

Reading Minimus’ words, living with this crew, helped him realize the value of the journey. When he first joined the Lost Light, he thought of it as a sentence to be endured. Now, he wouldn’t trade his position among these wayward sparks for anything in this universe, even if Rodimus was asleep in his chair again.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> I appreciate your kudos and love reading your comments!!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at: [lush-specimen.tumblr.com](https://lush-specimen.tumblr.com/)


End file.
